


We Need to Talk About Bucky

by Hekkenfeldt



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Humor, interpretive dance, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5958046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekkenfeldt/pseuds/Hekkenfeldt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The random barking out the window, the interpretive dance while we’re in public, and now throwing wild parties... that potentially no one else attended? There must be some sort of pattern.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Need to Talk About Bucky

_I really need to clean all this up_ , Bucky thinks, as he observes the destruction around him. Most of the chairs have been over-turned, and the shoe-rack is broken. There is wine in a puddle on the floor, and potentially chip dip in his hair. At least, Bucky really hopes it’s dip.

“Dude...” Sam breathes from the doorway behind him. Bucky nods. Yes, ‘dude’ is an apt descriptor for this mess.

“Bucky, did you... have a party while we were gone?” Steve asks. Bucky nods again. Oh yes, this most definitely had been a party.

He turns and gives them a thumbs up and a grin, then promptly lapses into unconsciousness.

 

Stepping gingerly over the spilled tortilla chips on the floor, Sam turns off the blaring dance music while Steve carries Bucky to the couch.

“We have got to figure out what’s triggering these weird behaviours, Sam. What was Hydra thinking, when they programmed him to do... _this_?” He gestures half-heartedly at the living room and the chaos therein.

“Does Bucky even have friends?” Sam muses, and eats one of the tortilla chips on the couch. “Or did he do this all by himself?”

Steve wants to tell Sam not to eat things he finds lying around, but Sam’s a grown man, and if he’s given up scolding Clint, he should probably not scold his best friend, either. Instead, he focuses on the problem at hand. “The random barking out the window, the interpretive dance while we’re in public, and now throwing wild parties... that potentially no one else attended? There must be some sort of pattern.”

“Maybe it’s a fail safe,” offers Sam. “Some kind of sub-routine put into him to stave off whoever’s trying to break through his programming.”

“It’s not exactly staving me off, Sam. If they were trying to get us to stop, wouldn’t they just have programmed him to _shoot_ at us?”

“It might not be staving _you_ off, but,” Sam gestures at a broken vase, “this isn’t _your_ living room.”

“Point taken.”

 

They watch, unconcerned, as Bucky does another pirouette. All in all, it’s a very nice cafe, and Steve is pleased that Tony has found them a place to drink coffee and talk where the owners seemed unperturbed by Bucky’s ‘performance art’.

“So, I have exactly no research on this kind of thing.” Tony admits. “Like, none. Stark Industries has done a lot of shady things, but never any brainwashing experiments. Pepper, Jarvis, and I have been through every file in the building.” He frowns. “It’s a very _large_ building.”

“I think you should hit him on the head again,” says Clint. “It worked wonders for me.”

Natasha is watching Bucky very closely. “His form is really good. Like, his arabesque is excellent. Whoever programmed him to do this paid close attention to detail.”

“Exactly,” says Steve. “And the French nursery rhymes he keeps chanting at midnight? Apparently his accent is _flawless_. No one would put this much _detail_ into this kind of programming unless there was a _point_.”

*****

Somewhere, thousands of miles away on a private island in the Atlantic Ocean, several very bored Hydra interns are eating their lunch. They wonder what they’re supposed to do with their lunchbreaks now that the asset is missing, and hope he returns soon so that they can finish teaching him to play Beethoven’s fifth on the cello.


End file.
